


A Winchester level job

by Hermit9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ellipsis Abuse, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentions of Violence, POV First Person, POV Outsider, Swearing, one sided phone conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah. I should be able to make it there for the day after tomorrow… No, no, you’re not calling me off anything. Yes, there was a job here… It’s handled… Nope… It was a Winchester level job… What do you think I did? I turned around and hightailed out of there… I… No… Ok fine. But no interruptions, ok?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winchester level job

**Author's Note:**

> So I have this headcanon that what remains of the hunter network post-apocalypse are keenly aware of the Winchesters, they just try their best to stay out of their way. The power level of the threats Team Free Will takes down is way too dangerous for most rookie hunters. This is me exploring that idea.
> 
> Set somewhere in season 10, Dean has the Mark of Cain, Cas' wings are broken but he has some grace. So probably around Angel Heart.

_Kara picked idly at the label of the bottle, watching as beads of condensation rolled down the amber glass, joining the expanding water mark on the cheap laminate table. It was the middle of the day, but she had drawn the blackout blinds when she’d re-lain her salt lines and checked the protection charms at each cardinal points. She sat in the comfortable artificial twilight, between the yellow glow of the nicotine stained bedside table and the harsh glare of her phone on the table. The earphones with the integrated microphone had been such an investments, made for nights like these._

"Yeah. I should be able to make it there for the day after tomorrow… No, no, you’re not calling me off anything. Yes, there was a job here… It’s handled… Nope… It was a _Winchester_ level job… What do you think I did? I turned around and hightailed out of there… I… No… Ok fine. But no interruptions, ok?

Ok, better start this at the beginning. I was tracking long-term patterns… I like doing those ok? So anyways, I find this one in the middle of Wyoming. One missing girl a year, in a fixed radius, around the fall equinox. No media coverage, no real police search… Yeah, I checked the police database… Yeah… I can do that… No, I won’t get caught.

Anyways, I get in town. Pretty town, wood buildings with that sun-bleached western movie set look. I head straight for the county record building once I get a home base room at the town’s only hotel… Yeah, I swear I just might call the manager Innkeeper and demand that a wench brings me beer… Yup, I still drive the mini-van. It blends in, doesn’t look threatening and these stow-and-go compartments are perfect for stashing my arsenal.  
So, county record building. Bullshit story about some environment/agriculture research. I went to get some of the gritty local stuff, the stuff that isn’t online. Harvest reports, farmer’s almanac, birth and death or marriage certificates. The county clerk was a plump old lady, super friendly and happy to help. And that’s when it got weird. She said something about “ _how nice it is that young people still know how to work the microfiche systems._ ”

I figured college student or something. No big deal, right? Until I walked into the record room. And that was no college student… At first glance, yes, so yummy. Broad back, nice shoulders, nice hands with long fingers delicately moving the knobs of the machine. Writing down notes instead of printing reams of paper. All nice, very nice. And then the county clerk spoke. “ _All right Mr. Vai. Looks like you’ll have to share. You kids play nice all right?_ ”

So, of course, he turns around. And yeah, the face is as fine as the rest. High cheekbones, hazel eyes with specks of honey in them… What? I have eyes and a pulse you know. 

“ _Hey, I’m Steve._ ” 

Soft voice, strong ( _strong_ ) grip. Clear recognition for the charms on my bracelet… Of course, it clicked. I think if it hadn’t you would have to haul me off the road. I mean, 80s rock alias, looking like that? Sam Fucking Winchester, in the flesh. I was a bit sad when the civilian left. Man, that guy switches fast from friendly con man to Hunter. He was about to start giving me the third degree or something when his phone rang… Of course, it was his brother. When am I ever lucky enough that I’d stumble on a _solo_ Winchester hunt? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Apparently, elder Winchester was even less happy with my presence than the youngest. Since the county record office was a bit small for a fight, we called a truce.

We went for coffee and Dean met up with us. Do you know how weird discussing a case on a terrace is? That was the most private spot, away from the nosy cashier, under the midday sun. And man, the light in that part of Wyoming is weird, too yellow, from the wheat and the hay. Sitting across both Winchesters and sweating in the heat is not a good place to be. Especially since Dean looked like he wanted to rip my throat out with his teeth the entire time. I get the history, with Roy and Walt, and Gordon, and those idiots in that bar. So ok, maybe other Hunters have been a bit on the asshole side. But _I_ haven’t. I was perfectly civil about the whole thing. We shared notes. We agreed that we were on the same hunt. I gave them my theories, Sam said thank you. Dean looked like he scaled down to just shooting me on the spot… No really, I count that as a vast improvement. He stopped snarling and everything… Yup, that green. That lethal too. You can almost see the menace oozing off him, like those old-school cartoons.

I left them to it! Paid for the coffees, got a muffin to-go and retreated to my room. I figured I would leave the next day, spend some time in the county records anyways. You know, keep a low profile, try not to raise any alarm in town by being suspicious… Nope! I did my job well, didn’t raise any hackles. Avoided talking about the arson case that _strangely_ burnt down the town’s oldest barn overnight. I bought road rations and some beer and figured I’d slink away quietly. The job seemed done, case closed and moving on right? I let myself believe it too. Until I got back to my room and this guy was leaning against the wall, just staring at me as I walked up… Freaky doesn’t even begin to describe it. I don’t think that guy blinks. Like at all... I mean I heard the rumors, but I thought it was just drunken Hunter gossip... I would **not** use the word “pet” around him no. But the boys really do have an angel up their sleeve and if that is not terrifying I don’t know what is. He has the deepest voice, but the way he talks is very stilted.

“ _Sam and Dean have sent me to get you._ "  
" _They did not explain. I think it has to do with you being female._ ”

Weird right? And then he got somehow very offended when I just sighed and asked if he could zap us over these and get it over with. Apparently, that is very rude or some shit... I don’t know, it’s not like there’s a syndicated Miss Manners column for angel etiquette, is there? Damn right. So he made some pointed remark about cars being a perfectly valid mode of transport and my choice being either following him or riding along or him giving me directions. He seemed oddly proud to show me the map on his phone… I let him drive. I figured if I was going to be dragged kicking and screaming… ok, grumbling and bitching, into the Winchesters’ orbit I might as well get there chauffeured by an angel in a gold pimp mobile… Seriously. Ugliest car **ever**. 

Turns out the brothers had shacked up in an abandoned farm building of some kind about 30 minutes out of town. When we got there they were trying to calm down a clearly hysteric woman. Poor thing was covered in blood – none of it her own from the way she was moving. And she was seriously scared of all three of them. I don’t blame her. Can you imagine being knocked out by some stranger dressed like a sword wielding accountant? And then waking up somewhere else surrounded by the Father of Murder and the Boy-King of Hell? Ok, so what if one of those titles is “former”. They are still scary as hell… No. He didn’t punch her. Apparently, angel mojo comes with a universal sleep setting. 

I got the story from Sam once I got her to calm down… Yeah, I threw the boys out of the place for a few hours. Turns out the town’s council were all part of this cult that worshiped this Byzantium born pagan god that demanded sacrifices in blood every year… Gruesome sacrifice… That involved pretty, fertile girls and men in animal masks and not much else… Yeah, bad scene. I _almost_ don’t feel bad for what Dean probably did to them.

Oh, gods no. I got her calm and dressed and clean… Ok, not in that order. Then Castiel was driving her off and away… That’s his name… No, the angel… Yes. As he drove off with her to wherever, he dropped me here… They were talking about going after the avatar of the pagan god, some huge rotting black pre-historic bison type beast… Don’t know, not my problem. They were talking about iron axes and beheadings having a good track record so far?

 _Winchester_ level job, I told you. So hold on, let me drive, and I will help you deal with that shadow people situation of yours. Should be outright **relaxing**. “

**Author's Note:**

> The cult mentioned is lifted shamelessly from Guy Gavriel Kay's excellent "Sailing to Sarantium" book. Go read it and it's sequel, he's a much better writer than I am. 
> 
> The alias Sam uses is the guitarist for Whitesnake amongst other things. Because when I googled "80s guitarist" [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/312601938/twittervai.jpg) was the second picture or so.


End file.
